Frappes, Flamingos,
And a Fireman
ALYSSA HELTON
With Keith Helton
Copyright © 2018 Alyssa Helton
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 198660053X
ISBN-13: 978-1986600538
Cover design and interior formatting by Keith Helton
of Dogwood Books
This book is a work of fiction. Businesses, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used factiously. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
DEDICATION
This book is dedicated to the brave men and women who risk, and on some tragic occasions, give their lives to fight fires. It takes a special kind of person to rush into a burning building to rescue someone else. Thank you for your service and please never forget that you are appreciated far more than you will ever know.
CHAPTER ONE
SLLLUUURRRPPPP!!!!
Joseph had reached the end of his mocha frappe, but refused to give up hope of one more sip.
SSSLLUURRPP!!
“Joseph, buddy, that’s it,” I told him. “There’s nothing left. Give it up.”
He gave the empty, plastic cup a sorrowful toss into the trash can next to the bench where we sat. I had brought the kids to The Avenue, a local shopping center, to spend some of their gift cards they had received for Christmas. My daughter Carrie, thirteen and essentially the boss, had escorted her older brother Tommy into the book store to look at Dr. Seuss classics. Joseph and I had drinks to finish before we went inside.
“That was so good. Mocha is my favorite I think,” he confessed. Being a senior in high school, he had become aware of coffee not just as a caffeine source but of a trendy, tasty treat.
“Last week you said the caramel was your favorite,” I reminded him with a laugh.
“Mmmmm, those are really good too!” He said with a longing expression.
“You’re somethin’ else kiddo.” I said while shaking my head. “Well, we’d better get to the book store. I bet Tommy has a dozen books picked out.”
“And Carrie’s probably drooling over all the Harry Potter stuff,” Joseph added.
We were both right. There they were in the fantasy section; she was eyeing the new illustrated version of The Sorcerer’s Stone and Tommy was holding onto a stack of Dr. Seuss. Tommy was fifteen and six feet tall, but being autistic, had a fondness for the children’s books. He stood there reading Green Eggs and Ham while wiggling his fingers in front of his face.
“He has it memorized,” said Joseph. “He couldn’t possibly be reading with his hand moving in front of his eyes like that.”
“You never know,” replied Carrie. “Mom, look at this! Isn’t it cool?”
“It looks amazing…and so does the price. I don’t think you have enough on your gift card for that.”
“I have some cash from Christmas, too. I can put it together and get it.”
“I’m going to the comics,” Joseph informed me, and he headed to find some graphic novel he’d been wanting.
On the drive to this outdoor mall, we had discussed him applying for college. Instead of a degree program, he had opted for a vocational certificate in video production with the hopes of continuing on to film school after that. My hope, as a single mom, was that he’d get a few scholarships to help out with the cost. Fortunately, Mr. Baker, my boss at the law firm, had hinted at giving me a raise soon.
“I want all these, Maymay,” Tommy told me. “They said they want to go home with us.”
“They did? Well, tell them we can’t take all of them today, but we can come back another time to get the others. You can pick two for today.”
“And then we’ll come back tomorrow, right?”
Why didn’t I specify coming back around Easter? Later always means tomorrow with Tommy!
“Not tomorrow,” I replied. “Another time like another holiday.”
“For Valentine’s!” he exclaimed.
I sighed. “Yes, maybe for Valentine’s.”
He was happy for the moment. Life for Tommy was lived from one holiday until the next.
Monday was our first day back to school and work after Christmas break. Something about this fact made getting out of bed even more troublesome. I had worked from home because Mr. Baker understood the dilemma of finding respite care for a teenage autistic boy; especially during the holidays. When school was out, I was home. Understanding the blessing of this arrangement, I tended to get more accomplished working from home. Plus, I didn’t have Cole there to distract me.
Cole, paralegal at the office where I worked as a research assistant, was one of my best friends. Tall, muscular, bald and intimidating; Cole was a nice friend to have when…oh, I don’t know…you want to confront some random bad guy. My five-foot-two petite frame didn’t exactly strike fear in the men I had helped to get arrested last year. Even being a “fiery redhead” didn’t cause them to proceed with caution. Thankfully, Cole came to my rescue more than once. We made quite the crime-fighting team, of sorts. At least I thought so. The jury was still out on how Cole felt about it.
I arrived at work fifteen minutes late because Carrie couldn’t find her orchestra music. It was in the microwave. Don’t ask. Cole’s car wasn’t in the parking lot. Oh, how I hoped he was just running late as well.
“Sorry I’m late. Guess I’m not the only one, huh?” I said, stepping inside the office.
“Actually, you are. Mr. Baker arrived early, and Cole called in,” replied Ginny, with her usual hint of superiority thrown in just for good measure.
Ginny was our additional paralegal who only worked part time, thank God. She would have fit in with the “plastics” from “Mean Girls,” and she drove me crazy.
“What do you mean Cole called in?” I questioned. He never called in.
“He said his kid was sick and he needed to stay home. Something about helping out his ex. I’m not a secretary by the way. I’m a trained professional, paralegal. If you want phone messages taken, you should ask Mr. Baker for an assistant. Wait, that’s your job, right?”
“No, it isn’t. I’m the research assistant; not a personal assistant. I only asked about Cole because you obviously took his call. No need to give me the run-down on your job description.”
“You and Cole never take me seriously. I come in here to work a couple days a week, and I don’t even need to. My husband makes more than enough money—“
I shut the door to my tiny office at the back of the hall and left Ginny to ramble on to herself. Setting my bag on the floor and my travel mug of coffee on my desk, I grabbed the desk phone to call Cole.
“Hello, Charlie!”
“How could you abandon me like this?” I quipped.
“I’m sure you can handle one day at the office without my ugly mug interrupting your work.”
“I like you interrupting; you’re entertaining and you bring me coffee. I get here this morning and there’s no you, no coffee other than what I brought from home, and Ginny is already annoying.”
“Oh, that’s right. She’s working today,” Cole started to chuckle. “So sorry.”
“That wasn’t at all convincing. You find this funny.”
“You’re stuck with Ginny all day. That’s not funny; it’s hilarious.”
“If only you could see my glare, you’d be nicer to me right now. Anyway, so which kid is sick?”
“Tyler, but,” Cole lowered his voice, “I think this was a ploy to get time with
me. Probably should’ve made him go to school, but he’s eight. What’s one day with dad gonna hurt?”
“Won’t hurt at all. In fact, it’s probably really good for him. I’m glad you’re not staying with him to help that awful ex of yours.”
“Ooooh. You are in a bad mood.”
“I’ll pray through later. Well, if Tyler mysteriously recovers today, you should meet us at the zoo later. I’m taking off today around one thirty because I promised Tommy a train ride for having good behavior over break.”
“Maybe. I’ll let you know.”
I hung up with Cole and booted my computer. There was a lot of work to get done with three new cases. Our firm handled family law such as adoption and custody disputes. The adoption cases I loved, but the custody cases…those were a challenge for many reasons. People got angry. Children suffered emotionally. It was taxing on everyone. Fortunately, only one of our new cases was a custody fight.
After a couple of hours of online research, I had a few pages of information that needed placed into files. I clicked to send them to the wireless printer and stepped out of my closet-office to make coffee and wait for the pages to be printed.
“Coffee break already?” Ginny snipped.
I took a deep breath and whispered the Scripture from Sunday’s sermon: “A soft answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger.”
“What did you say? You shouldn’t mumble. My mother taught me manners, and I was never allowed to mumble.”
“Never mind, Ginny. I’m just waiting on my pages to print. Would you like some coffee? I can make a whole pot.”
“No, thanks. I don’t drink regular coffee. Mr. Baker should really get one of those Keurig coffee makers. No one uses those old pots anymore.”
She huffed off, annoyed by our old, inferior coffee pot, and I took my printed pages and a second cup of coffee to the serenity of my private cubbyhole. Running through my head were a million quips about Ginny’s drawn-on eyebrows, including one that involved crayons, but I kept quiet and asked God to please keep His loving hand tightly secured over my mouth.
I arrived at Tommy’s school just as one of the aides brought him to the curb. He came running towards me with a note from his teacher.
“I had good behavior today,” he announced, beaming.
“Good job, bud!” I gushed.
“We are going to the zoo, right? And I can ride the train?”
“Just gotta go home and change clothes first.”
Joseph and Carrie gladly set aside their homework for a few hours to make the trek to the zoo. My grandparents had given us a membership for Christmas. The Brevard Zoo, though smaller than the one I grew up with in Tennessee, was a nice place with a variety of animals and shaded walkways…and a train.
We met Cole at the front gate, and I was surprised to see both of his kids with him. Tyler was young enough to appreciate a trip to the zoo; but Brooke, being fifteen and somewhat embarrassed by her father, wouldn’t usually have volunteered for this kind of outing.
“The gang’s all here!” I remarked.
“Yeah, well, Brooke has a school project about animals native to Florida, so—“
“I figured I could do some research and hang out with everyone, too,” Brooke finished her dad’s explanation.
“Great!” added Carrie. “It’ll be nice to have a conversation with someone that gives more than a one-word response to everything.”
“Whatever.” Joseph remarked.
“Point made!” Carrie said shrugging at Brooke.
As we entered through the zoo gates, the first animal sighting was straight ahead. Before us lied a pond with dozens of beautiful flamingos standing tall and still.
“Majestic creatures,” commented Carrie; always hoping to impress others with her literary prose.
“Eh…just Florida chickens,” added Cole, causing everyone to laugh, except Tommy.
“Holy Roosters!! But we eat chickens,” exclaimed Tommy, appalled that anyone suggest we eat those scrawny, pink birds in the zoo exhibit.
“He was just teasing,” I informed Tommy. “Those aren’t chickens.
“Whew!” Tommy was relieved.
Cole and I corralled the kids towards the education center. Tommy liked the area where kids can dig in sand for plastic animal bones. The girls loved the chinchillas, ooo-ing and ahh-ing about how cute and soft they look. We casually walked along the glass cases filled with snakes and lizards, admiring scale patterns and the miracle of camouflage. Suddenly, we heard a yelp as Cole jumped back from a terrarium, crashing into the woman behind him.
“Sorry! So sorry,” Cole said, startled.
“What happened?” I questioned.
“Nothing. Just a—“
“Dad’s scared of spiders,” Brooke shared with a grin.
“What? No way!” I couldn’t believe my ears. This information could prove useful come April Fool’s Day.
“It’s a phobia,” explained Cole. “I know the spiders are harmless. I know I’m way bigger than them. It’s not a lack of knowledge. It’s just a silly phobia, okay?”
“Understood. Something that can’t be helped,” I replied. “Of course, it’s also something I can use for my own amusement.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Cole said, looking down at me with that one raised eyebrow.
“Wouldn’t I?” I stood on my tip-toes and looked him in the eye. He smirked.
“Besides, not all spiders are harmless,” Carrie felt the need to interject. “A friend of mine at school had a cousin that was bitten by a brown recluse and lost a foot.”
Cole just stood there for a few seconds staring at my strange child before speaking. “Thanks, kid, that helps a whole lot.”
“Weirdo.” Joseph said as he walked past his sister.
Sometimes one word was all that was really needed. We all spent another hour wandering around the zoo; making sure to see the meerkats and giraffes and the Florida native alligators for Brooke’s project. Tommy got his train ride, and everyone else got an ice cream cone. (Why Tommy won’t eat ice cream is beyond me. How could I possibly have ended up with a kid who won’t eat ice cream?)
Cole and his kids had stayed to linger in the gift shop, but I whisked Tommy through that store fast as lightning. He’d pick a dozen things to buy if I stood there too long. A doughnut from the gas station was just enough incentive to get him out the door. For a split second I thought about stopping at the office to get some paperwork I had left, but decided to just get to work early in the morning instead. The kids had homework to do, and I needed to feed us all something relatively nutritious so my mom license wouldn’t get revoked.
“What’s something quick I can make for supper tonight?”
“Pizza,” declared Tommy.
“How about wings from that one place?” suggested Joseph.
“Turkey sandwiches it is,” I stated, getting moans of agony in reply.
“Burger King has their chicken nuggets cheap and we still have a gift card,” Carrie reminded me.
“They have onion rings. Onions are a vegetable,” Joseph stated. Oh yes he was serious. First ice cream then
a supper of burgers and onion rings. Yep, say goodbye to that mom license.
CHAPTER TWO
SOMETIME around eleven that night, all the kids were in bed and the house settled into a quiet calm. I changed into a pair of old sweats and my Marvel t-shirt that was accidentally splattered with bleach. Hulk’s once dark green face was now a pale yellow. It was sad. I grabbed my iPad and climbed into bed to check my emails. I was happy to see that my inbox contained an email from my best friend Su. She had been extremely busy recently; going to college, working and taking care of three kids (all on the autism spectrum). She was a super hero I was proud to call friend. The fact she lived so far away, in Mississippi of all places, made it difficult for us to stay in touch as much as we’d like. I took a sip of water and read her message:
“I’ve determined to stay better connected with
my BFF and my daughter this semester. Even if it’s just a ‘hello.’ I’m sitting on my daughter’s bed while typing my BFF. Bam. And goodnight!”
I laughed so hard I choked on my water. Su had a way of cracking me up when I least expected it. I decided to wait and write a reply in the morning when I stood a better chance of coming up with something witty.
Snuggling with a pillow and burrowing under the covers, I closed my eyes in search of sleep. It didn’t come quickly. I’d doze off for a bit only to wake-up uncomfortable and toss around for a while. I had just dozed off for the third or fourth time when my cell phone rang.
“Hello?” I answered, questioning anyone who chose to call at such an hour.
“Charlotte, so sorry to wake you.”
“Mr. Baker?”
“Yes, Charlotte, it’s me. Listen, I’m calling because the office is on fire.”
“What?” I thought surely I had misheard him.
“The office, the building is on fire. I’m on my way there now. I know it may be impossible for you to leave the kids, but we may need your help on site. I’ve already been asked a million questions, and I can’t think straight. You’re good with keeping your head straight in situations like these.”
“Let me call my emergency sitter, and I’ll be right there.”
My good friend and fellow autism mom, Ronda, had come up with the idea that we would make ourselves available to each other in emergency situations. I had done two middle-of-the-night sittings for her, and she had done one for me. Our system had served us both well. She answered on the third ring, left a note for her husband and came right over. I ran out the door wearing my sweats and t-shirt, hair in a ponytail, ball cap crooked on my head (unknowingly) and with a travel mug of coffee in my hand.
Before I even pulled into the parking lot, I could see the flashing lights of two fire trucks and various emergency vehicles. Flames still rose from the back of the building; fountains of water flowed out of hoses onto blackened walls. It unnerved me to think I had almost stopped at the office just hours earlier. What if I had been inside when it caught fire?
Frappes, Flamingos, and a Fireman (A Charlotte Ritter Mystery Book 2) Page 1